


Sins of the Father

by somethingclever



Series: Tim IS a caring and nurturing person. [13]
Category: Justified
Genre: Dad!Raylan, Dad!Tim, M/M, Tim would know, kids are hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-12-26 03:30:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12050373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somethingclever/pseuds/somethingclever
Summary: Artie sat in the backseat, soaked to the skin and shivering, even with the heater on.  He could see the last of his friends getting picked up from the police station through the windshield, Mrs. McCaven dealing Jim a good whack upside the head- well, he figured, he deserved it- they all did.He could just make out his father's back through the beat-up precinct blinds.





	Sins of the Father

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all! I hope you enjoy this installation of the series. It's a different angle than I usually take, but it was mad fun! As always, comments make my day!
> 
> Also, there IS more written in this series, but it may be a while before I can get it posted - I am having a baby next week, so... yeah. Gonna be busy for a while, there.

Artie sat in the backseat, soaked to the skin and shivering, even with the heater on.  He could see the last of his friends getting picked up from the police station through the windshield, Mrs. McCaven dealing Jim a good whack upside the head- well, he figured, he deserved it- they all did.  
  
He could just make out his father's back through the beat-up precinct blinds.  
  
Finally, he came out to the car and got in, buckling his belt and turning to look at Artie. Satisfied he was secured, he pulled out of the space, the lights from the station butter-yellow on his skin, making him look jaundiced and the tattoo on his forearm menacing, half-hidden in shadow.  
  
How could he have been so stupid?  
  
"Dad..."  
  
"Not right now, Arthur."  
  
He immediately shut up- his dad didn't call him Arthur often, and when he did, it meant he was dead serious and Artie had better pay attention real quick.  
  
Bill didn't know what he was talking about, though, jeering when his dad had been the first one in- Bill was the drunkest, and he was high- "Oooh, Art's gonna get his ass beat!"  
  
Artie's dad had looked at them, at all of them, and not at Artie at all, "Can you honestly say you don't think you have it coming?"  
  
They definitely did... breaking an entering, drinking underage, and worst, Matt might...  
  
"Is Matt gonna be okay?"  
  
"Haven't heard," Dad answered, "But... I would expect so. Just a bite."  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
"Of all the things you should be sorry for, Matthew decidin' to go skinny dip in the storm runoff pond is the least of 'em."  
  
"I tried to tell him there was likely gators..."  
  
"So you went in after him?"  
  
"...yeah." he kicked the back of the seat in front of him, awkwardly.  
  
"God help me, have I raised an idiot?" Dad muttered, but he didn't seem to be actually asking a question, just... throwing it out there.  
  
Yes, you have, Artie wanted to tell him, because only an idiot would have disobeyed you and lied to you and gone off behind a complex and gotten in trouble and gone in the water, and only an idiot would have then called the cops.  
  
And stayed to get caught.  And not warned anybody else he'd done it.  
  
They pulled into their drive, and Dad turned off the car, staring through the wheel at the dash like it could tell him if his son was an idiot. "Go on inside," he said, "Get dressed for bed- and toss those clothes down the stairs, I'm doin' laundry."  
  
"It's two thirty in the morning..."  
  
"I am very aware of what time it is, Arthur- go on and do as I told you."  
  
He went inside, heading to do what he'd been told to do- his other dad cleared his throat and Artie stopped with one foot on the stair. "You all right?"  
  
"Yeah," he replied, "I mean, dad's probably gonna tan my hide but..."  
  
"Did he say that?" Raylan's head tilted to the side, watching Artie with less amusement than earlier, his eyes sharp.  
  
"Not in so many words..." he shrugged, trying not to look as apprehensive as he felt. Dad had never whipped him before- in fact, most of his friends said he was lucky, although Artie would disagree when he was in the middle of an essay on cheating (with four citations) and his friends were all playing.  
  
"Hm. Better go get ready for bed."  
  
He nodded and went upstairs, shucking off his clothes and tossing them down the stairs onto the tile, the sound they made as they hit heavy and wet. He took a quick shower, dried off, and got into his pajamas.  
  
With the water off, he could just hear his parents.  He crept to the vent to listen.

"-s not like that, Tim! You can't tell me you didn't do dumb shit when you were thirteen! Even drinkin'."  
  
"I was drinking _alone_ at his age, not with other _idiots_ that couldn't hold their goddamn liquor, much as _you_ were, I suspect," dad's voice was hard, "And if I'd ever done anything like that, he'd've knocked me into the middle of th'next week or taken a layer of skin offa my ass, or both, so no, actually, I didn't. I was scared to," Artie shivered, hugging his knees to his chest- dad didn't talk about his dad, ever (he knew his dad’s dad wasn't Grandpa Art even if Grandpa called dad 'son') and he somehow didn't think his father was exaggerating this... "I don't know- I can't risk him thinking he can ever pull shit like this again, Raylan! He coulda died. They all could have."  
  
"He did call the police."  
  
"He did... tell me I'm wrong."  
  
"Tim, there's a difference between punishing a kid by spankin' them and beatin’ them."  Raylan had to be upset, if he was pitching his voice like that, and drawling like he was back in Kentucky.  
  
"What is it? It's the same concept, you- you hit ‘em…- I have no idea. Fuck, I don't want to do this..."  
  
"Then don't."  
  
"But what if he does it again?" Dad's voice broke, and Artie hugged his knees, wiping his own nose, which was running (but he wasn't crying!), "He's my boy, Raylan, I can't..."  
  
"C'mere, you." There was a soft sound and Artie could picture Dad climbing into Raylan's lap, folding himself small.  "It's late, jus' sleep on it, and let him get himself calmed down."  
  
"Probably right," Dad sighed, "Lemme up, I'mma go check in on him."  
  
"He's likely gone to bed..."  
  
"I'm still checking."  
  
Art scooted backwards across the floor and slipped into bed, curling himself up in a ball.  He couldn't imagine being actually scared of his dad.  He didn't want to.  He felt sick, and angry with himself for everything - ever agreeing to go out with Matt, the entire night, calling the cops, not getting dad to understand he hadn't meant to be a moron, and he was sorry for listening.  
  
...and now he was actually crying.  
  
Dad tapped on his door, and Artie strongly considered playing possum, but then the door opened, "...Artie, are you okay?"  
  
Dad looked so worried, and fuck being too big and too old, Artie sat up and held out his arms to his father, "Dad..."

His dad came and sat on the edge of his bed, pulling him up into his arms, and Artie wrapped his arms around him and held on as tightly as he could.  
  
"I'm sorry, dad," he whispered, "I won't do it again, I shouldn't of, I didn't think it was gonna get so outta hand..."  
  
"I know."  
  
"And then I couldn't just leave Matt there by himself! And I didn't wanna go home by myself either... I seriously just thought we were gonna maybe..."  
  
"You knew," Dad said, "You just didn't expect it to be so bad."  
  
...he hated it when dad was right. "I know. And... and I know you gotta punish me, I deserve it."  
  
"Yeah, well," Dad sighed, "I probably deserve it just as much, thinking two thirteen year old boys could be trusted to go to a movie together..."  
  
"I won't do it again."  
  
"I won't be giving you the opportunity anytime soon," and something in Artie relaxed, pressing his cheek on his father's shoulder, "Okay.  I was considering giving you a whippin', but... I can't. I won't. But you're grounded, young man."  
  
"Yeah," Artie nodded.  
  
"And I'll figure out the rest in the morning, but I didn't want you worrying about that."  
  
"I wasn't," he muttered, "You'd never hurt me."  
  
"No, I wouldn't," Dad agreed, "But you scared me and Raylan. I'm too old for this," he said, poking Artie in the side, "Well. Get to sleep. You've gotta be up in," he looked at the clock, "Three hours."  
  
"On a Saturday?"  
  
"Yep," Tim said, "First thing you need to learn about being an adult, you can stay up 'til two and drink... but then you pay for't."  
  
He groaned, burrowing himself into his bed, and dad got up, ruffling his hair, "G'night, Champ."  
  
"Night dad."  
  
The door clicked shut, and he closed his eyes to go to sleep.  He really wasn't gonna pull that shit again...  
  
The door opened, "Arthur. If you ever decide to be stupid, but you don't wanna walk home, call me. I'll come, and you won't be in trouble. I promise."  
  
He sat up, "What?"  
  
"I'm serious. Any time. Anything. You think you're in over your head, you call me. I'll be there, and I won't give you any crap over it. Okay?"  
  
"Uh. Okay."  
  
"Good."  He closed the door, and Artie burrowed into his blankets, listening to his dad walk down to his bedroom, open and close the door, and Raylan’s voice speaking, dad answering…

He closed his eyes, exhausted, and glad that the day was over.  Even if dad was totally going to be an asshole in the morning…


End file.
